The Lady Painted Green
by MademoiselleTalya
Summary: Sort of AU. Two different scenarios of certain characters growing up, all tied by the same theme - Jealousy. Yaoi; France/Canada and Japan/China mainly, slight America/England. More details inside. HIATUS!
1. Chapter 1

**(A few comments before we start; this is my first...published and serious Hetalia fanfic. I'm a bit nervous but, oh, well! ~**

**This story contains yaoi, slight at first, though - Also might contain shota, but I'm not telling you for sure. Pairings are, as mentiones, mainly France/Canada, Japan/China, with some America/England and other pairings if you squint, along with some that may develop with the story, and perhaps some at the reviewer's suggestions. Human names are used.**

**I apologise beforehand if there are any mistakes, but English isn't my first language, though I try my best at it. I don't speak either French, or Japanese, or any other language besides Spanish and English itself, so please do tell me if I made any mistakes with the expressions I used here.**

**Well, thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy it!)**

**The Lady Painted Green**

_-In so many ways, we see her coming.-_

_-We see her approaching-_

_-We do nothing, for her arms-_

_-Soothe the pain inside-_

_-Such a simple answer, she gives…-_

_-As easy as turning away-_

_-She doesn't let us forgive.-_

"That is the ugliest one in all the house."

"Shh, don't say that! It's dad's favorite painting!"

Light blue eyes narrowed, still fixed on the painting hanging on the wall, having to stand on his tip-toes to see it properly.

"It's ugly!"

"Alfreeeeed…"

The owner of the name rolled his eyes at his little brother's whine. He finally finished his stare contest and looked away, looking into relieved lilac eyes.

"Fine. But you gotta admit it's ugly."

"What's ugly?"

Both kids jumped at the words, the younger one hiding lightly behind Alfred.

"That painting." Said boy merely pointed at the offended picture, making his little brother gasp, and making the third voice groan.

"Again with that? It's a beautiful painting." The man, moving his blonde hair out of his eyes, looked at the framed artwork carefully. It was so old, he didn't exactly remember how he got it. It consisted of a lady sitting as if it was a portrait, a window behind her. The light was white, gorgeous, making unusual patterns on her green dress. She stared at the painter, with a look that was hard to read, but a smile nonetheless.

"It gives Mattie nightmares." Alfred added, and the man, Arthur, looked at the smaller of his _protégés,_ with wide eyes.

"Is that true?"

"It was only once. Twice." The so called Matthew dared to step ahead, bowing his head lightly.

"It's been five so far!" Alfred complained, not really understanding the look with brother gave him as an answer.

"There's nothing to be afraid of. It's a painting like any other." Arthur continued, ignoring the exchange of stares the children did between each other. "It's just a lady sitting there."

"T-There's a hand on the window, though." Matthew finally added, and the man had to check twice for the detail.

"That's a tree."

"But there's no other part of the tree!"

"It's just a branch."

"Only one branch that looks like a hand?"

"_Matthew."_

The lilac-eyed boy knew he had spoken too much. He quickly sealed his lips, and clutched his long tunic-like nightdress. Alfred looked at him, asking in his eyes why had he shut up.

"It's no topic of discussion now. Go to the dining room, dinner will be ready soo-" Suddenly, thick eyebrows arched and the man quickly ran back to the hallway he had come from, towards the kitchen.

Soon both kids could recognize the now familiar smell of a burnt dinner.

* * *

It was sad. It truly was.

How happy could one be, _just_ because someone touched you?

Arthur wasn't the 'huggy' type. Of course, he cared - Comforted, held him, sang to him sometimes, and even now he let him into his bed when Matthew had nightmares, after the conversation about the painting.

But still, it was _enough_ physical contact.

And he was nearly ashamed of wanting and enjoying more than just enough of it.

So when warm hands took him by the waist, lifted him, threw him up even and then received him back in that oh-so-warm embrace…

"If he falls, you'll pay it with a broken leg."

The remark breaks the moment, and Francis sighs, barely acknowledging the English' words before his smile returned, blue eyes deep as the ocean now back to Matthew's face.

"Nobody will let this _petit_, gorgeous thing fall… Isn't that right, _mon cher_? Isn't it? ~"

Sitting at the table, Alfred pretended he was throwing up, watching the scene. He wasn't that much into affection - Matthew guessed the boy didn't mind it, neither did he need it.

Alfred didn't know, anyway.

Giggling, ignoring his brother's loud laughter after his apparently very comical performance, Matthew grabbed the soft, crimson suit Francis wore, getting more of his attention. The blond man smiled down at him, and kissed his forehead, and then the tip of his nose.

"Hello there." He smiled, and Matthew smiled back at him. Francis turned lightly, and saw Arthur already placing the plates on the table, one extra for his sudden visit, and then turned to see how God-knew-what was doing inside the oven. In that moment, the blonde hugged the child tighter, and kissed his cheek, softly, dangerously close to his lips. Matthew closed his eyes, and tugged at the blond strands, lighter than his own. He saw those deep oceans blink, and then a smile adorned the lips that came closer again, and kissed him in the lips.

So innocently. Just a superficial touch, yet it meant _so much_.

Matthew didn't fight back. He blushed, and thanked the older man with his eyes. Francis only smiled, and turned around just in time to sit Matthew at the table and help Arthur serve the dishes.

* * *

"How come you never let me carry you?"

The voice barely distracted, if distracted at all, the small figure playing with a brush, drawing different lines in the paper. Ink spread like blood, and Yao reproached himself in his thoughts for comparing a small nation's doodles with it.

"Kiku."

The name did have an effect, not really positive, but the man standing only wanted a reaction right now. The boy turned, eyes soft yet not, almost like glaring at him even though the child didn't even frown.

"I asked you a question." Yao tried insisting, and the boy sighed softly.

"I don't like it."

"You'd rather walk?"

And then it was gone. The boy turned and went back to his drawing, not before the slightest expression of frustration showed through his eyes.

"Kiku…"

Insistence.

That was something hard to stand. How people didn't know that no was _no_ and nothing else. Still, he remembered other frustrating moments, like having to run along with Yao in the mornings, or he wouldn't be allowed to touch a single sheet of paper or a single drop of ink. And Yao had said the same - _No means no._

"Why do you ask?" He went for an easier strategy, the blobs of ink ruining the paper, noting his tension in that exact brush.

"We need to go buy some food, nearby. And I want you to go with me, as always."

The 'no' came so quick in his head Kiku barely managed to keep it in his mouth.

"You can draw along the way, if we find anything interesting."

And suddenly the 'no' wasn't so keen on leaving.

* * *

They didn't seem to share a good relationship. It was so silly, Matthew could see them fight, argue, even pull hair if necessary. Alfred was small, but smart when he needed to - he ran through Arthur's legs, hid under tables of delicate tea sets he knew Arthur wouldn't even dare to touch. In the end, after making their dad follow him around the house, he sat triumphantly on the couch, remote in hand.

Today Alfred chose what to watch, it seemed.

Arthur did complain about wanting to put on family shows or something _educative_ at least, but the boys grew fast. They soon got bored, they learned incredibly fast, and all educative tapes and shows were quickly rejected and replaced with horror movies.

Alfred was the only one that liked them, truth be told, and for that, that night would be a scary one.

Sighing, Matthew hoped Francis would stay the night.

He was sitting on the couch, a massive pile of blankets next to him. He took the light pink one, and wrapped himself with it. Alfred jumped right into the pile, and made himself a little fortress in them. When Matthew was about to complain about the mess his brother was doing, he looked at him and found those light blue eyes staring at him.

"Wanna enter here too? It's pretty warm. And safe!" Alfred cheered, offering his hand. Matthew's heart couldn't be happier, then, and took his brother hand about to enter in his strange cocoon of sorts, until he felt the weight on the couch and looked to see Francis sitting by his side, glass of wine on his hand.

"I'll let you know if I want to. Thanks."

Alfred blinked, but chose not to say anything. He sat between his blankets, wondering why would Matthew reject his protection, until he saw his brother quickly sit closer to the French, happy when a hand came to rest by his side.

He wasn't sure of why, but Alfred pouted, and grabbed a blanket to cover the space he left for Matthew to enter.

"How does that taste, _papa_?"

Francis stared down at the curious lilac eyes, and he didn't need to look up to know it - Arthur's eyes were on him, analyzing. Probably to protect his baby from being fed alcohol -so ridiculous, like Francis would ever do that…- and to stare at him in disbelief, too. Feeling that on the gaze on him, the Frenchman looked up, and saw the half-glare, half-surprised stare, and half-hurt stare. It seemed he hadn't noticed how Matthew called him _papa_.

"You'll find out when you're older, _mon chérie._" Francis smiled at the boy, and ran a hand through his hair, noticing how the smaller one tilted his head, happy with the caresses.

"It's really nothing of the other world, Mattie. You know Francis doesn't have good taste; look at his clothes."

Francis' hands were away from the little boy like he was on fire, a bit hurt at the comment, but then realizing that if he felt barely a sting on his pride, his _Angleterre_ had to be in real pain to say something like that.

"O-Oh." Matthew muttered. Alfred only laughed at the remark of the clothes, used to Arthur's strong voice already. He wasn't sure why, but the younger brother couldn't understand how he couldn't get used to it yet.

More arguing followed at the choice of movie Alfred made - It seemed to be a bit too bloody for the kids, and after much screaming -Matthew had started sitting next to Francis, and ended up nearly on his lap- the movie was changed, choosing a suspense kind of horror.

Those were the worst ones.

It was about ghosts, a haunted house, your typical suspense movie - But in any case, watching it at night, with all lights off and only the TV lighting the room… Matthew looked around, and couldn't see Alfred, instead finding a bunch of blankets. Further to the side, Arthur seemed alright, if not bored at the movie. Still, after a sudden noise which Matthew -thankfully- missed, the blonde jumped, fear on his face for mere seconds.

Then Matthew looked to the other side, and saw Francis smiling at the movie, eyes fixed on it and interested. The glass of wine was long since forgotten after being refilled numerous times.

The movie passed by. Awfully. Making them jump at any instant, all jumps followed by Alfred's nervous laugh, trying to make it look like he did it on purpose.

They were apparently on the worst part already, the protagonist -a girl, and a really stupid one- having wandered on the haunted house so many times now it wasn't even funny. Matthew was certainly sure there was nothing else to see in the house, that is, until a hand came from a room she was passing by and dragged her in.

"E-Eeep!" He immediately jumped and hid his face against Francis' suit, staying there while hearing the woman screaming her throat out. He whimpered, and a pair of warm hands took him, and sat him on a pair of equally warm legs.

"Shhh. It's okay, don't look."

Matthew did look, but he looked up at the face framed by golden locks, with a blue-ish glow, thanks to the movie. He nodded, and cuddled on the man's lap, shielding himself from the images. He felt the hands caressing his back, softly, and one moved to the back of his head, playing with his hair.

"I thought you said there _wasn't_ blood in this one!"

"It's just a little… Blood doesn't harm any- OH MY GOD THE GHOST AGAIN."

Francis glared at the pair, Arthur now struggling with Alfred to cover his eyes, the other hiding between his blankets and watching through a minimal space, even though he was trembling and whining. He rolled his eyes, and focused his attention on Matthew, keeping him from turning his head.

"I'll tell you when you can look, _petit_." He said, soothingly playing with the ashy blond strands of hair. Matthew looked up at him, but he wasn't scared - He blocked the screams and disgusting noises from the TV with focusing entirely on Francis, not caring of the images reflecting on his blue eyes.

"T-Thank you." The boy muttered, and Francis let himself smile, eyebrows high. He put a single finger on Matthew's lips, and waited. The child merely held his stare, blinking twice in confusion, until he finally smiled. "_Merci."_

Seeing the pleased smile, Matthew could only giggle in content at the caresses on his hair.

"Good boy."

* * *

It was the fifth stop.

Tired already, but not enough to admit it or show it, Yao switched the bags he was carrying to his other hand as he used the now free one to tug at the child's _yukata_, trying to snap him from his trance, watching the piece of paper.

"Kiku, I think it's been enough…"

"You said I could draw." The child said, no anger or any emotions at all in his voice, just distracted as he continued drawing the bunnies they had seen - A bunch happily under a tree's shadow, so irresistible to draw.

Yao had said he could snatch one and keep it, but Kiku refused - he wouldn't tear any from their family. At the offer of taking _all_ of them home, he simply gave a disapproving groan.

"Let's just take them home…"

"You have enough rabbits back at your house."

Keeping his composure as always, Yao first felt the sting of the boy's cutting words, and then, he felt the other sting - the harder one.

Kiku never referred to their house as his _home_.

Even after sleeping there, eating there, and spending most of his time along with Yao in their house, their home. It was natural for the kid to love his land, himself and where he came from. But a bit of appreciation couldn't hurt, right?

"Can't you draw the ones that are back at home, then?" He replied, a bit harsher than he intended to. Kiku paused his drawing and looked at him over his shoulder for a few seconds, before he stood up and gathered his drawing tools.

"Fine."

During the walk back to _his house_, not their home, Yao felt the last sting - Moments with the little boy always brought three, like it was his lucky number. He eyed the boy obediently walking by his side, and sighed.

Guilt.

* * *

It had been by far the worst fear he had felt in his life.

He could swear his hands shook so much he couldn't even grab the pieces, his brain couldn't connect to his legs, and his ideas were fuzzy anyway to make the command, to form a rational thought. He couldn't tell his body to run away, even less to pretend he didn't do it. Maybe Alfred blamed the dog that mysteriously entered through a mysteriously open door… in the middle of the night.

But _he_ couldn't.

Matthew could only stare in shock, ready to feel the tears staining his face. Before him, pieces of porcelain scattered around the floor, the biggest piece making noticeable that it was a jar. But he knew more than it. It wasn't any _jar_. It was the beautiful, probably expensive and very delicate teapot from one of his father's collections.

And he broke it.

_He broke it._

It almost felt like a panic attack, and the child was now crying, unsure of what to do. He didn't know his dad had moved the table to that hallway. _He didn't know._ He wasn't expecting it to be there, around the corner, _right_ when he was happily playing with his polar bear plushy. He was usually the careful one; the one Arthur loved for taking care of his precious belongings.

And now he had broken it, one of those precious belongings.

Why would Arthur love him anymore after this…?

Desperate, his legs finally woke up and he tried to collect the pieces, getting on his knees. They hurt, mostly for being so small and so sharp, but he quickly gathered as many as he could, and then… Looking at them, he tried to make them fit into the bigger pieces, but none seemed to work. He tried over and over again, fast, before anyone could come after the noise the fall of the teapot had made.

He managed to make the biggest piece stand, and fit another big one on the side, when he noticed the strange marks that weren't on the porcelain before. It wasn't meant to be red. His eyes slowly traveled from the red-stained material to his hands, but before they could even focus, strong hands pulled him up and quickly carried him away from the scene. Matthew cried at this, dizzy for a minute until he was finally placed on top of a shoulder, watching the mess going away, a few red drops on the place. He was about to cry louder until he looked to the side and saw wavy, long blonde, instead of the expected spiked and short hair.

"What were you thinking, _mon petit_, your hands, your little knees…"

Matthew recognized the bathroom as Francis sat him on the basin, quickly washing his own hands to then wash the little boy's, carefully, both whining at the sight. The child because of the pain, crying endless tears now, and the adult because of the other's suffering.

"Please, _mon cher_… Don't cry. It'll be over soon, I promise." The man pleaded, doing his best to stop the blood on the small hands while cleaning the injured knees too. Giving the boy a towel, he told him to press his hands together with the towel between them, firmly, to stop the blood. Matthew did as he was told, trying not to cry any louder at the pain.

He looked at the man, trying to distract himself, and saw Francis pulling down his small pants, eyeing with pain on his eyes the little shards of porcelain stuck to them. He carefully wiped the blood with a wet tissue, with such delicate hands the boy felt he _could_ ignore the pain. He wasn't even embarrassed, like he usually was when taking his clothes off. With a sigh, Francis finally looked up at him, and took the towel from between his hands.

"Good boy…" He whispered, as he opened the drawers from under the basin, taking out the band-aids of different sizes. "Why did you do that?" He asked, voice so soft Matthew nearly didn't understand him.

"I-It was an accident." He said, looking away. He face was turned back, however, by a gentle hand cupping his chin.

"_Non, non, __mon chérie…"_ The blonde looked at him, and smiled, stroking his cheek with his thumb. "I know it was an accident. Why did you hurt yourself? A piece of porcelain isn't worth ruining you beautiful hands." He added, this time applying the band-aid to the wounds on the child's hands, carefully, rubbing his little palms soothingly.

Matthew tried to speak, to answer him, but only a choked sob came out, followed by more tears. He held Francis' fingers with his hand; he wasn't in pain. He was just between ashamed of the mistake he had done, and emotional for the words he was hearing. He bit his lower lip, trying to stop the sobs, already ashamed. He felt Francis pulling away, while putting the remaining band-aids on his knees.

"Please, don't cry. I can't stand seeing you cry…" The man said, not wanting to look at the boys in the eyes - Teary eyes. Matthew immediately fought back all the tears, swallowed all the sobs and dried his cheeks, wincing lightly at the movement, having fisted his hands. Only then did the man look at him, and smiled. "What can make you feel better, Mathieu?"

The boy again decided against talking for the threat of the sobs coming back in that teary fit, and so he only carefully grasped the locks of golden hair falling at the side of Francis' face. The man only nodded, closing his eyes in content. It was easy to know what the boy wanted. They could communicate so well without any words. Opening his eyes, just to watch the boy's growing bigger as he got closer to him, Francis kissed said boy's lips softly, his lips barely moving to mold against the tinier ones, caressing them the slightest. It was enough to make the other happy, Matthew letting out the tiniest, yet most adorable sound of content.

"What happened?"

The command was clear and freezing. It wasn't a question. The man at the door demanded the answer as he pierced green eyes on Francis' back. The French only turned around, a smile on his lips as always, yet not a happy one.

"I was helping little Mathieu." He said, simply, and the boy squirmed, trying to stay hidden behind the other's back, not wanting to meet his father's probably angry stare.

"Oh? So he broke it?"

And the crying exploded again.

Francis followed a very angry Arthur through the hallways, speaking and reasoning with the man to let the boy alone - It had been an accident, after all. Matthew was always careful; it wasn't like the boy had done it on purpose. Yet his words fell on deaf ears, Arthur apparently already without any patience left after arguing with Alfred about tidying his room. Without much left to do, Francis only watched as Matthew squirmed on the British's arms, looking at him over his shoulder, with little, lilac eyes.

He wasn't grounded and he wasn't punished, as requested.

But the polar bear went to the trash.

* * *

The sight had made is heart warm, his eyelids flutter - In the morning sun, he could barely see it, but as he got closer, he felt the warmth spreading all over his chest, wrapping him in a feeling he didn't quite remember having before.

Then again, he tended to forget about most of _those_ kind of feelings.

Kiku was barely in sight, stuck between so many flowers the opaque color of his clothing was the only thing that made him visible to the trained, brown eyes. Yao walked closer, trying to be as silent as possible, watching the little boy - He was watering a plant, but his attention was only on one of the many different flowers surrounding him. It was a plant Yao didn't remember seeing before, anywhere on his garden. He didn't even remember planting it.

His foot only landed on a leaf instead of the soil, and Kiku turned to look at him.

"Good morning." Yao quickly reacted to say, adopting a more casual stance as a contrast to his before doubled, sneaky form.

"Good morning." Kiku only nodded, and then returned to his task. Yao approached him and finally stood by his side, watching with interest.

"What is this plant?" He asked, watching as Kiku finished covering a hole he had dug, patting it softly. "Its flower, it's… it's quite impressive."

"_Higanbana_."

"I see." Yao analyzed the flower carefully. It was bright red, blossomed with many flowers that spread with long, red petals. Almost like a spider. "It's so cute…"

The child said nothing, and continued his task watering where he had just planted something. Once he finished, he stood up and walked away, carrying the little pot with water. Yao turned to look at him, a bit surprised that the other had left so quickly. He would usually say goodbye, at least.

"Kiku?" He called, and the boy stopped, turning after a few seconds.

"I apologize, Yao." Kiku said, simply, and after giving a bow, he walked away, getting lost between the many paths on the flower garden.

Yao narrowed his eyes, fingers still touching the flower's petals. He had felt the boy hadn't exactly apologized for leaving like that. His behavior always intrigued him. Shaking his head, the man forced himself to smile, the gesture becoming natural once he saw the gorgeous flower again.

If Kiku felt the confidence to plant on this garden, it meant he was actually forming part of it. Maybe it was a little step closer to him recognizing this place as his home.

Maybe he only wanted to be part of it? To participate?

Yao frowned, walking away from the flower, deciding to take a stroll around the many different colors and forms the flowers had. He always let Kiku do as he pleased, at least express himself. It was true, there were some things that he didn't approve - When he wanted to dress differently, to write differently, to _speak_ a different language… And many more, now that he thought about it. He knew he had to give the child his space, but sometimes he couldn't.

He was too afraid of letting him go.

Too afraid of letting him become so different, they wouldn't be related at all.

Why fear something as ridiculous? Why build such a strong bond with a boy that wouldn't even call him _family_, or acknowledge him as it? Kiku barely spoke to him, and when he did, he was referred to as simply _Yao._

He wanted much more. He wanted to give Kiku everything.

To let him become part of his happiness. Part of his _life._

And he would, no matter what.

* * *

"You didn't ground him."

He wasn't exactly sure the words were directed to him. He continued writing, signing papers as quickly as he could and reading as fast as his eyes let him. Still, a tug at his jacket told him that the words were in fact for him.

"Mh? What is it?"

"You didn't ground him, I said." Alfred was looking straight up at Arthur, something strange on his eyes. The man tilted his head, completely distracted from his work now - There was something on the boy's expression that was off. But what could it be…?

Oh, right.

He looked so angry and _displeased_. Even sad, for the pout on his lips.

And that was a rare sight indeed.

"What's wrong?" Arthur pressed, and Alfred sighed, his shoulders lowering as the child looked away, almost as if trying to re-arrange the words he had practiced, on his head.

"The other night, I ate all the cookies, remember? …And kinda all the ice cream too." Alfred looked up at him again. Arthur only nodded, a bushy eyebrow raising as a sign to make the boy continue. "Well, because of that, I was three days stuck in this house. With no dessert after lunch!"

"Yes, and? You ate two boxes of ice cream. That was enough dessert for an entire month."

"It's not the point!" Alfred puffed his cheeks, blushing the slightest at his father's accusation. "Thing is, how come Matt broke your _favorite_ stupid teapot and now he's happily playing outside?"

Arthur frowned, deeply. He could feel a headache coming only thanks to the problem itself. It was hard already to reason with the boy, and about something that apparently troubled Alfred so much, it would be worse.

"Should I remind you; you always go around breaking things and eating everything and annoying our guests?" He tried to reason, and Alfred only giggled, out of his concern for a few seconds.

"You laughed when I put flour on Francis' hair dryer."

The mental image made him smile. Still, he had to shake his head, bringing back the topic.

"Yes, I mean no, I mean… Point is, you are a little troublemaking brat." A poke to the forehead was enough to make Alfred angry again. "And Matthew behaves. It was the first time he ever made a mistake. If he does more, of course, I'll start taking more important matters. Like I did with you."

"Really? So you don't like him more?" Alfred asked, smacking the hand away from his forehead. Only at Arthur's surprised gaze did he notice that he had actually said what worried him in the beginning. "I-I mean…"

"Of course I don't'!" His voice had been a bit louder than necessary, and Alfred backed away lightly, still trying to think of anything to cover his slip-up. Arthur sighed at this, and mentally counted to ten.

"Y-You don't, then?"

"Of course no. I love you both the same." The man got up from his chair to take Alfred into his arms, even though the boy struggled a bit. After getting used to it, he only cuddled, stubbornly tugging at a strand of wild blond hair.

"I don't believe you." He said, pouting, and Arthur rolled his eyes. What a way to ruin the first time he had actually said _I love you_ in so long.

"Try me." He mumbled, sarcastic as he left Alfred back on the floor. The boy glanced up at him, and for a few seconds, Arthur felt unsure - There was something he _did_ recognize this time on the boy's eyes and he did not like it at all. In their staring at each other, they heard the front door opening and tiny footsteps entering, letting the breeze enter the house. After a few seconds, the footsteps went away and the door was closed.

"Dad? What were you working on?" Alfred asked, then, and Arthur kept his eyes on him, ready to run after him in case those eyes didn't fool him and were indeed planning something.

"Papers." He said, simply. And then the little boy smiled.

"Are they important? They just flew everywhere when Matt opened the door."

If Alfred planned something, Arthur didn't know. He was too busy collecting every paper quickly before the ink ruined them, while the boy ran outside laughing that tiny laugh of his that would give the man nightmares.

* * *

"Please, Yao_-senpai_. I asked for some space."

A hand was irritatingly posed on Kiku's shoulder, distracting him all the time from his drawings. He didn't know how to express it - He tried politely, tried formally, even a bit rougher. None worked. Sometimes it was hard to go through that thick skull.

Thick skull that was shamelessly peeking over his shoulder, looking at his drawings.

"That's not how rabbits look, you know." Yao said, pouting at the freshly-made drawings spread around the floor, one on the small table he had bought the boy specially for drawing. Kiku tried hard not to snap. He was annoying him _and_ criticizing him? "Gimme!"

His brain almost couldn't grasp it as the brush was yanked from his hand easily, Yao moving to lie on his belly on the floor next to Kiku, drawing on one of the paper sheets.

"See? There you have… The nose, the ears, the puffy chest…" He mumbled, drawing the animal on his own way, much more realistic than Kiku's drawing. The boy should've been interested; this was the other big, powerful country showing him his skills at one of the things he liked the most.

He didn't know why, but he wasn't interested. He felt challenged.

And not knowing the reason made him walk a little closer to losing his patience.

"I see. Now, would you please give me back my brush, Yao-_senpai?" _He tried, staring at the dark hair next to him, and the hand easily drawing more lines on the detailed drawing.

"I haven't finished…" The other said, and Kiku waited.

Patiently.

After the drawing was done, though, Yao decided to draw on _his_ sheet of paper, on _his_ drawing. Moving his feet around like it was the funniest thing ever to do, humming a melody like it was something you could do every day and now he was drawing his own ugly version of a rabbit on top of his own and…

"Stop it." A hand quickly took the brush again, and pulled it forcefully from the other's hand, followed up by another hand taking the sheet of paper away from him. "I mean it."

He suddenly wasn't so sure anymore about his actions when he saw Yao staring at him, suddenly speechless, hand still grabbing an imaginary brush.

"Aw, what did I do?" The man asked, frowning and moving his hand to take the brush again. To his surprise, Kiku moved quickly, dodging his try. "Hey. Give it back."

"I can't give it back. I had it first; you should've given it back." The boy stated, dodging once, twice, four times in total Yao's hand trying to snatch the brush from him.

"Give it."

"No."

"Give it."

"No."

"Give it!"

"N-No!"

It was a more than just strange situation. The brush was taken from his hand, but oh, no. He wouldn't let him. In the blink of an eye he had pushed Yao on his back, pouncing on him and winning back the brush, to then stand up and try his escape - Short lived. Longer arms wrapped around his torso and Yao held him close, struggling to keep him still with one hand while he tried to win the prized brush back. Kiku didn't stop struggling - He kicked, slapped, and even bit Yao's hand once it was dangerously close to his fisted one.

"I-I said give it!" The man whined, rolling to the floor to try and pin the boy, only to be pushed and back to their previous position, a bit surprised than a boy less than half his size could actually _pin him_. He had done a very good job at training him, it seemed. Kiku did seem to grow and get bigger every day…

"No."

Before his surprised eyes, Kiku managed to stop all his attempts at snatching the brush back with something as simple as painting his face, making him squirm under the ink now all over his face. Only then did his struggling stop, and Yao lied still on the floor, opening his eyes to see the boy now off him, standing near him with the paintbrush secured behind his back.

"W-What… What did you do?"

"Painted you."

"…What?"

"…A moustache and a beard."

Yao frowned, and moved his hands towards his face, rubbing his chin and looking at his palm. Indeed. He had an ink beard now. _Fantastic._

"It makes you look more like a man."

Oh, no. He didn't.

"GET BACK HERE!"

Paintbrush still held, Kiku managed to run around the room, on top of the bed and under a desk, all while Yao chased after him and managed to dodge those obstacles too. The chase continued, now in circles around the room, until Kiku saw his opportunity under a desk in the corner. He quickly crawled under it, and saw Yao crash almost in slow motion against it, not able to jump over it as it was against the wall.

Again on the floor, sprawled and now hurt with the boy half his size standing next to him.

With a victorious look and the brush still in his hand.

"Fine. You win." He admitted, closing his eyes. His thighs hurt where he had smashed them against the edge of the desk. He tried to sit up, ignoring the pain and rubbing his thighs, pouting. "That hurt."

Kiku didn't answer. He simply stood there, watching Yao, breathing going back to normal. He looked around the room, and found the mess - Paper sheets everywhere, the bed now messy and the covers falling to the side, and all that was once on the desks was now on the floor, messily scattered.

It wouldn't be half as bad if Yao didn't collect so many silly little things, but he still couldn't help feeling guilty.

"I'm sorry." He breathed, more because he felt he _had_ to apologize. Yao looked up at him, and tilted his head to the side.

"I'll forgive you, but you must give me something." The man said, enjoying the surprised and indignant look on the boy's eyes. Kiku truly didn't feel guilty anymore, surprised and almost insulted at the request. It had been Yao who started it! "Give me that brush."

"No."

"Just a second, I promise." Yao stood up, ignoring how his legs trembled a little - The pain was going away quickly, anyway. He observed as Kiku slowly let go of his paintbrush, and Yao held the object triumphantly, walking over to the -thankfully- still standing drawing table, with the inkpot on it. He submerged the tip of the brush on it, and turned looking at Kiku with a grin the child knew very well.

It was the 'somebody deserves a hug' grin.

The despised 'open your mouth, here comes the flying dragon with food' grin.

Before he could run, Yao quickly got to him, wrapping his arms around the boy and making them both sit on the floor, successfully drawing on his face, too.

"Close your eyes." He ordered, not much of an serious order since it was said between giggles. The small nation did as he was told, knowing he would regret it - He felt the brush tickling his eyelids, around his eyes, and the tip of his nose. When Yao let go of him, he opened his eyes to stare into shining light brown ones. He hadn't noticed until then how those eyes could turn a pretty caramel color when wide and with the afternoon light.

He shook those thoughts out of his head, still worried about the overly-happy expression on the man.

"What did you do?"

"Made you a baby panda." Yao couldn't resist the laughter now, and he fell on his back, grasping his belly because of the laughter. Kiku frowned, imagining himself for a few seconds and how _ridiculous_ he must've looked. "Don't you clean it! You look even cuter!"

He ignored the 'even cuter', meaning he was already cute.

Kiku stood up, and easily snatched the brush from the laughing man's hand. Yao looked at him, and fell into hysterics again, closing his eyes and nearly crying out of pure laughter. The boy narrowed his eyes, and made sure the brush was still wet with ink.

That was it.

It didn't matter if this man was his _sensei_ and he had to respect him.

He was _so_ getting a unibrow.

* * *

Good part of the papers where ruined and had taken him hours to sign them and read them again. A good addition to the headache was how he _still_ had another pile to read, and to think this was his _free time_, not scheduled work, made his temples pulse with pain. Thankfully, Francis was being helpful - He had come to visit, and later he announced he had to actually stay in the house, and so he paid him with dish washing, tiding, and cooking, to both boys' pleasure.

He thanked it, though it wasn't that necessary.

Francis _did_ pay him with other things, and he thanked anything -luck, fate, magic- that neither Alfred nor Matthew asked how did Francis stay, if there weren't any other beds.

Still, the topic only made his headache worse, and Arthur gripped the edge of the last paper -finally!-, trying to concentrate and read word by word, line by line, instead of skipping as he was doing while letting his thoughts trail away when his eyes kept reading.

Before he could finish the third paragraph, he slowly recognized the distant sound of full-blown crying.

Slowly getting closer.

His heart got the best of him and he left the papers on his desk, throwing the pen somewhere, not caring if the ink got on any of the already finished and neatly piled documents. He quickly ran to the door and opened it, catching Alfred on his tip-toes, probably about to knock. While one hand was up in the air as a fist, the other was clutching Matthew's.

Who was covered in leaves, mud, soaked wet and crying.

With a tiny yet ugly wound on his cheek.

"Alfred!" He roared first, and the boy threw his hands up in defense, letting go of his crying little brother.

"I didn't do anything!" He claimed, and before Arthur could demand a full and detailed story of what had happened then, for the first time, he heard Matthew truly hurt and even _angry_ speaking.

"Y-You pushed m-me!" He sobbed, tiny hands going to his eyes to rub away the tears. "Y-you pushed me, A-Alfred!"

"That's a lie!" Alfred quickly retorted, his own angry voice booming over Matthew's. "I didn't do anything, I promise! He just fell!"

Arthur could swear his eye was twitching. Between a crying and probably bruised Matthew and a loud, angry Alfred, along with the _fantastic_ situation at hand of both brothers arguing about who was right, he wondered how much a poor head could take and when his ears, or his eyes, or even his nose would start bleeding out of the pressure and pain pulsing in there.

"L-Liar! W-Why did you p-push me?"

"I didn't push you! You fell because you're stupid like that!"

"I-I'm n-n-not stupid!"

"Stupid, stupid, stupid…! He can't even stand, dad! He just fell rolling down the hill!"

"I-I-I'm not s-stupid…!"

"SHUT UP! BOTH OF YOU! SHUT YOUR MOUTH!"

Adding to the pollution of screaming and crying, the door was slammed and almost ripped off its hinges as both boys moved inside, Alfred still yelling and pointing at Matthew, Arthur yelling to sound over Alfred's voice, and Matthew's cries getting louder and louder because of Alfred's accusations, his own pain, and the fear of Arthur screaming his lungs out.

Until the cacophony was interrupted as another voice, like a melody between the broken notes came.

"_Mon dieu_! Will you all quit it! What in the world is going on?" The voice was loud but in a low tone, not a scream and abuse of vocal chords. Arthur turned as Francis grabbed his shoulder and tried to move him away from the children.

"Wonderful! Now he have the entire JOKE OF A FAMILY here! Let's turn it into a meeting, SURELY!" The Englishman spat at him, but Francis didn't react - He wouldn't argue back, as Arthur would have expected. He knew how to tell between a generally angry and/or moody Arthur from a stressed, worried one.

"Lower your voice and tell- _DIEU! Mon chérie_, what happened to you!"

Matthew didn't want to, but he still felt much better ad he was pressed against Francis' chest, comfortably nested on his arms. He knew he was soaking him and staining his clothes, but the man didn't seem to mind.

"He fell."

"You pushed me!"

"Enough is ENOUGH." Francis stated before Arthur could even open his mouth and turn the scene back into a shout competition. "I don't care what happened. I'll take care of Mathieu, you ask Alfred what happened."

Arthur didn't have time -or an answer- to argue against the other man, so he just watched him leave quickly through the hallway. Once he was out of sight, he directed his gaze towards Alfred.

"So he fell, huh?" He asked, eyebrows twitched in a way it was more than obvious he didn't believe a word of it. Alfred knew this, and instead of replying, he stormed upstairs as fast as his legs let him. "H-HEY! I'm talking to you!"

"I don't want to talk to you!" Alfred yelled at him from the top of the stairs. Still, he didn't move until he noted Arthur was following him. Only then he entered his room, and quickly jumped on the bed, hiding his face on the pillows.

"You _have_ to! It's not up to you whether you obey me or…" Arthur trailed off as he entered the spacey room, a mess like always. "…Alfred?"

"You never believe me anyway."

_Such_ a low blow. Arthur felt like those words hurt more than any headache. He stumbled on his words, and remembered the conversation they had had hours before - How Alfred even asked if he loved Matthew more.

"I… I already told you, Alfred. It's not like Matthew to make mistake. Much less fall, when he loves playing outside so much." The man sat on the bed, and looked at the child. After a few seconds thinking about it, he touched the boy's head, caressing his hair softly.

"It could happen. He's so silly, dad." Alfred looked up, a trembling pout on his lips and glassy blue eyes. At the mere sight of his face, he was tucked into a warm embrace, Arthur almost desperately holding on to him.

"I…"

"He fell on his own. He's silly and he's boring." Alfred continued, and he looked up, watching his father's concerned gaze. "I make more mistakes, I know… But I'm better!"

"You're both the-"

"No, you don't get it! I talk more, I'm fun, and I don't slip on a water puddle. Really, daddy… I'm better than him. W-Why do you like him more?"

"I don't!"

Alfred hid his face against the soft green shirt, and Arthur hid his own on the ashy-blond hair. After the outburst, he was left thoughtful - did it truly worry the boy that much? To be left out, to be loved less? To be honest, he did always argue with him. But still being honest, Alfred always gave him a reason to do so!

Sighing, he didn't know what to think anymore. Maybe it was one of those situations he hated to have and never admitted they were, when neither of them was wrong.

They were both right.

"I'm sorry." He whispered against the soft hair, and he felt Alfred tensing lightly in his arms.

"I'm sorry too." The boy whispered in an even less hearable tone, but Arthur could make it up easily. Both too proud to admit mistakes loudly.

"Are we okay, then?" He asked, for the first time sounding unsure in front of the boy, at least he thought it was in the moment.

"I think so." The child still didn't let go, and for Arthur that was okay - He didn't want to, either. There was something comfortable about just staying like that; he hadn't experienced before that connection where he knew the other didn't want to pull away either. In fact, he guessed they would stay like that, hugging, until they could pull away satisfied - At the same time.

He was always unsure of hugging for too long, hugging too shortly, being too close, being too far.

But that feeling wasn't there right now, and he thanked it.

"I l-love you."

The last whisper made him smile, and he decided that that moment deserved the first _I love you_ he had said for so long, instead the one that passed hours ago.

"I love you too."

* * *

"Do _you_ believe me, _papa_?" Matthew let the question hang in the air, sitting again on the wash basin, while Francis was kneeling next to the bathtub, testing the steamy water.

"So Alfred pushed you, you said." The man looked at the boy, and saw him nod. Sighing, he tested the water again before he stopped the water running, and took the boy on his arms. "Frankly, _mon cher_, I don't care right now. I'm more worried about you getting a cold."

Even though his question was avoided, Matthew smiled as he cuddled on the man's arms. He was left on the floor, where Francis tugged at his wet and dirty clothes, taking off a little jacket, his sweater, the undershirt, and leaving it all on the basin. A bit embarrassed, the child let himself be undressed, his pants and underwear added to the pile of clothes.

"Such a shy little thing." Francis smiled, kissing his cheek as he hugged him by the waist and slowly lowered him onto the warm water - the perfect temperature. Matthew wiggled his toes on the water, and sat on the bottom, happy how the water reached his shoulders. It was like a perfect bath.

With small, sweet kisses included.

"_Merci, papa_…" He tried, delighted at Francis' proud smile at his words. The man caressed his hair, washing it, creating foam around the boy's face.

"You're a quick learner, aren't you." He joked, fingers massaging the child's scalp so deliciously he couldn't help but purr at it. He loved when people touched his hair, petted it, caressed it… Matthew leaned into his touch, closing his eyes, all disgust or pain washing away as the more than just comfortable aura settled around him.

After those delicious minutes of Francis massaging his hair, the man let the water leave the bathtub, quickly showering the boy with clean one - As fast as he could, trying to keep the warmth on him. Matthew didn't even notice the cold, he was happy enough with the attention, besides, the tub was quickly being filled again and his toes curled and uncurled, happy with the this time hot water.

"My little boy… Feeling better?" Francis asked, hugging the boy close, nuzzling his now clean hair. Matthew giggled softly, blushing - How could he not be? Arthur and Alfred were probably arguing and throwing things at each other, as the usual, while he got to enjoy this moment - He got to be with Francis, to share and explore that bond they shared he loved so much.

A thumb rubbed his cheek, making the slightest shiver of pain run up and down the boy's spine. He remembered Alfred sneaking up behind him when he was near the small hill, enjoying looking at his reflection on the small water puddle, until he was pushed and next thing he knew there was a branch too near his face, and his body hurt more than ever.

"Why did Alfred do it?" He wondered out loud, pouting. He felt sad at the memory. He never did anything to upset his brother, apart from their notable differences. He felt the hand leave his cheek, and sneak under his arm, this time caressing his belly.

"I can't know, _mon chérie_. Maybe he's just jealous?" Francis was joking, but Matthew did consider the idea - Alfred didn't have, after all, a gorgeous bond with someone like he did. He only fought and argued with Arthur. Maybe it was that? "I mean, even I'm jealous… Of such a pretty little boy… That beautiful hair… And those delicious pink cheeks!"

The idea was out of the boy's head as soon as Francis began his assault - He giggled, the man kissing his cheeks over and over again, his forehead, the tip of his nose, and his chin. Both hands were wrapped around him, now, pulling him out of the water and leaving him on the white towel waiting for him at the wash basin. Francis sat him there, and wrapped him in the white fluffiness, lips still glued to his cheek as he left a longer kiss there. Matthew looked up at him, and before the man could pull away, he knowingly grabbed a strand of hair, lilac eyes shining and lips forming a smile.

Francis smiled, feeling the tug on his hair as he pulled away, and stood where he was, ocean-blue melting into soft lilac. He was about to move forward, to grant the boy his wish and mold lips against smaller ones, but again, he was stopped.

It wasn't Arthur interrupting the scene, like it had happen numerous times.

The names_ 'Bloody pervert_', _'Disgusting frog_', and even _'Sick __wanker__'_ invaded his brain, in thick English accent.

It as a learnt doubt, Francis sighed, as he realized how the other's warning had indeed left a mark on him. What he was doing wasn't _wrong_, as Arthur said it was. He just loved little Matthew so much, so, so much… Ever since that time when, after long days without seeing him, he warmly greeted both boys, his enthusiasm made him share the smallest 'hello' kiss with both - Alfred had pushed him away, disgusted, making noises and wiping his lips. It was expected, after all. Francis had just laughed, and then turned to Matthew, who was patiently waiting to have his attention.

"_What did that mean?"_

With a smile, he had answered -

"_It means that I love you."_

It had been a simple answer. All kisses meant that, after all. He wasn't expecting the boy to cling to it, to demand the 'love' each time he could, to enjoy it so much. And he enjoyed it, too, and pleased him whenever he could.

So was it really his fault?

Was it really wrong, when it made both so happy?

"_Papa_."

Snapping out of his thoughts, Francis looked down, at the eyes that weren't as shiny and the lips that had forgotten the smile.

"Ah, _excusez-moi_." He said, absentmindedly, forgetting any unpleasant thought that was making his brain ache, replacing them only with the happy and somehow surprised noise Matthew make once he crashed his lips into his.

Crashed - Because it had been a bit more passionate than he usual.

The boy moved his head back because of the pressure, but only a little, closing his eyes as he hummed while relaxing, feeling the other's lips moving. Even though it was just a little, it was more than what he normally received. The hands keeping the towel wrapped around him grabbed him, towel included, to pull him into his arms.

Francis didn't break the kiss -it was just _contact_- as he hugged the boy closer, only pulling away once little hands gripped his now wet shirt because of the boy's hair. He looked down at him, and smiled, finding dizzy, confused, but happy eyes. Matthew was still smiling, even laughing once the man lowered his head and attacked him with kisses again - This time, they went from his cheek to his ear, and then lower now to his neck, and his shoulder. The child shivered, but didn't let go. Francis kissed his neck several times more, always shortly, until he placed a specially long kiss on his soft skin, to then pull away.

"Let's go get you dressed, _oui?_ I don't want you to get cold."

Matthew truly doubted it, because he was feeling the warmest he had ever felt in his life.

-_End of Chapter One_


	2. Chapter 2

**(Some notes before we start this... Thank you for the reviews, first of all. I'm trying hard to keep this updated. ~ This chapter contains -almost- sexual themes, as warned on the first chapter, but I won't say more than that. Do please enjoy.~)**

_-She's gentle, she's soft-_

_-She's soothing, yet wrong-_

_-There's no force on her arms-_

_-In her words, there's no harm-_

_-It is us who lets her guide ourselves-_

_-It is us who lets her drive our brain-_

_-She's only there to fulfill; to care-_

_-At the same time, feeling our needs-_

_-At the same time, making us crave.-_

The conclusion was easy to see. Clear, even, as he looked up from his work with cables, hands still tying them and pulling the pieces of plastic together even when his attention wasn't on them - His eyes were focused on the moon, the view clear and gorgeous from the large window wall, to then look around the room. Curtains of foreign materials, strange textures, design a mock of the ones he had seen on his young years. Lamps where he used to see candles, books piled and dusty -Yao had never liked to read- but still _there_, in other _languages. _In the middle of the room, as always and with numerous red cushions he wondered from where, his bed. Not anymore the small, soft, and puffy bed he never admitted he liked. An _American_ bed, with its enormous double-mattress standing high from the floor.

Eyebrows knitting together, frown accompanied by a scowl, he continued looking around - Desks filled with so many things, so many _different_ things, full of American characters, of European figures and statues, of gifts from all over Asia, all so empty but 'pretty', according to their owner. Between them, there were many Japanese gifts as well. There was a wall filled with papers, his own drawings - There were a few done by Yao, but they were mostly his own. Rabbits, foxes, different animals, different landscapes… They were all there, like trophies, including the first _hiragana_ he wrote - No matter how angry Yao had been at him at the time, he still kept it as a treasure.

He should've been happy at this.

But he wasn't.

He could only frown and force himself to look away, because how much did _his_ gift matter between so many others? Others bigger in sizes, brighter in colors, yet smaller in meaning? Yao didn't care. He only squealed at how bright the green was or how fluffy it felt against his face.

It was unfair, how he had been with the man for years, yet he opened himself to others he barely knew.

"Where have you been?"

His gaze didn't leave the window as he spoke, having been fixed on the moon again. The footsteps entering the room had tried to be silent, but it was impossible to cross his room when the other was sitting in the middle of it, working on his old and faithful table.

"Were you waiting for me?" Yao asked, pulling a strand of hair behind his ear, fixing his robe as he stood in the doorway. There was a smile on his face, though it was tired, and his eyes reflected how he felt.

"Yes." Kiku answered less than friendly, mentally noting how his question had been avoided.

"Is it that late? Time flies sometimes…"

"It's past five in the morning." Kiku continued, interrupting the lame attempt of an excuse he was being given. "How much does time fly, when the birds start singing for the morning, and the first sunrays appear? How unnoticeable is it?"

Yao waited in silence, his smile still there, but the eyes still revealing the false composure.

"Unless you were in a room where you couldn't see it, nor hear it."

Kiku felt close to snapping when the footsteps were heard behind him, ignoring his words and making the bed -the _American_ bed- bounce under the other's weight.

"I'm tired." Was the only answer he got, making him stand up, his gaze leaving the moon for the first time to stare and _pierce_ at the man face-down on the bed.

"Of course you are." He muttered, not moving from his place. "Your robe isn't even well tied."

"Kiku…" The voice was pleading, and for a second, the Japanese thought about stopping his questions and comments to let the other sleep. But then he remembered, how he had been promised dinner and a pleasant moon-gazing night with a 'happy full belly', as the other had said, and all doubts or pity washed away.

"Did he give you sunflowers?"

There was only silence, tense, but Kiku could hear the other gripping the bed sheets.

"I bet he did. He always does and you always receive them and love them like their petals are made of gold."

No answer.

"Tomorrow morning, in the dining room, they'll be there. Replacing the chrysanthemums in your favorite red vase."

"Stop it!"

Kiku's eyebrows arched, eyes saying nothing and mouth in a thin line as he watched the other turning around on the bed, looking at him without that smile anymore. His features weren't soft, his mouth was tense, his eyebrows were in a frown. His eyes still showed everything, like they always had.

He showed himself to all.

"Please, stop it." Yao insisted, voice less powerful and more pleading this time. His eyes were still fixed on Kiku's, searching for any intention in them - Mock him? Intimidate him? Simply torture him? He found none.

"Only the truth hurts." Kiku said, then, not breaking the visual contact as he narrowed his eyes. Yao only sighed, a pained sound, letting himself rest on the bed again, before he looked away to the window.

His eyes shone in that caramel color too, in the morning light.

* * *

"Go away."

There was a hand pushing at his window. The wide, foggy window he insisted on putting curtains on.

_It's a reliable source of light!,_ Arthur had said.

"Go away!"

The hand was still there. He knew that, sooner or later, always when he least expected it, she would appear.

With that smile, and her gloved hand reaching out to him.

"_AHHHH!"_

Matthew woke up with a start, sitting up and pretty sure he had jumped, not knowing how he had not fallen off the bed, like in other moments. He sighed, hands going up to his face, feeling the sweat on his forehead and the tears under his eyes. He waited for a few minutes, calming down, ears straining to hear if anyone was coming - If he had screamed out loud, someone would. If it had been a breathless, silent scream, nobody would had been bothered.

Moaning lightly, he tugged at his hair, trying to push the made-up illusions from his mind. It had been yet another nightmare, after years already of them haunting him.

"The painting." He mumbled, looking around his room to make sure he was safe - And he was, even though staring at the window made him tremble and look away as fast as he could. He climbed off his bed, and walked out of his room quietly. The second floor hallway was dark, except for the warm and faint light from the lamp at one end of it, next to the door that lead to Arthur's room, in case any of the boys needed him.

The blonde did need him, nightly, for the nightmares about that painting he hated so much became each day more frequent. He was getting older - still a little boy, but not a baby any more. He had expected them to leave his mind alone, but nothing seemed to calm them. He had suggested getting rid of the painting, but his father was so fond of it… Shaking his head, Matthew assumed it was alright. After all, Arthur always came to see him when he heard him scream, even staying and sleeping the rest of the night with him, or letting him crawl into his bed when it wasn't occupied.

Occupied…

Shyly, he closed his door and walked down the hallway. His room was in the middle, Alfred having chosen the one at the other end of the hallway so he could 'protect' Matthew from one side while Arthur protected the other, as he had put it. He felt safer, yes, although he preferred curtains protecting him from the window.

He passed the stairs, tiny footsteps barely hearable, and he looked down to notice the bright blue glow on the first floor, coming from the living room. Someone was watching TV.

_But so late?_ He wondered, and he eyed the last door, the one he had to reach, before he looked downstairs again. His curiosity got the best of him and he walked down the stairs, peeking through the bars and trying to make up the silhouette sitting on the couch. He slowly made his way down, not able to tell who it was - The figure was slumped, almost hanging and lazily sprawled on the coach. Once he walked away from the stairs, Matthew noticed the bottle that had rolled away from the couch, now near the bookcase. He saw an empty, quite big glass with a faint of purple-ish red on it - wine, he guessed, and he got the courage to walk closer, guessing who it was.

"_Papa?_" He asked, loud enough to catch the other's attention, but low so he didn't disturb him. He saw the man jump in his place, like he had awoken from a slumber, turning and looking at the boy.

"Ah! ~ _Mon petit Mathieu!_"

At those words, the boy knew there was something wrong. He had to think carefully to _decipher_ what the other was saying. His speech was slurred, his face was red, and his movements were more than clumsy. He stepped forward to see him closer, not sure of what was going on with him.

"What are you doing here, _papa?_" He asked instead, walking closer as Francis finally sat up, hair surprisingly messy, the first buttons of his white shirt undone, and a bit stained with a few red droplets.

"I, ah… Huh." The man looked at the TV again, and the boy assumed he was thinking, maybe remembering why he was here. "You see, _mon chérie_… I had to sleep here, because your daddy, sweet… more like sour _Angleterre_, he kicked me out." He said, shortly, after stumbling over his words many times. Matthew stood there, looking at him, tilting his head in confusion. "Because we, ah… Sleep-"

"You sleep together. I know." The child answered, earning a surprised glance from the Frenchman.

"You do?" He asked, and Matthew simply looked down, shuffling his feet.

"Yes… I've seen you two." He declared, hoping Francis wouldn't get angry at him for it. More than a few nights he had gone to Arthur's room after a nightmare, and found him cuddling against the other. He hadn't known Francis was naked, for he barely saw them, covered with the bed sheets.

"Oh, really?"

The pitch of the man's voice changed drastically, and Matthew looked up at him, not sure of what he found in his eyes.

"So you have. Mh, you were always a clever boy… Learning so fast…" Francis scratched the stubble on his chin, and then patted his thighs, smiling at the boy. "Come here, _petit_. Did you come to make me company?"

"Well…" The boy didn't disobey - He wouldn't waste a chance of time spent with Francis, no matter how strange the man was behaving and _oh, lord_, how much he smelled like that wine he was always drinking. "I-I had a nightmare." He mumbled, remembering without even trying the nails screeching against his window.

"Oh, _non_…" He heard Francis whisper, rather dramatically, as he was pulled even more to his lap, arms wrapping from behind him and making him rest his weight fully on the body behind him. "My poor little boy…"

"I-It's because of the painting, _papa_…" He shared, looking down at his hands that had tried to grab Francis' and hold them, but those warm hands instead caressed his sides, fingers pressing at different spots on his skin. "I-I… I don't like it, it's a creepy painting..."

"I see…" The other mumbled, his face buried on the back of Matthew's neck, breathing against his skin and taking in his scent. The boy squirmed lightly, but then felt the missed, warm lips against his neck, and he giggled softly. Francis was just trying to comfort him, surely.

"I'm… I-I'm a bit scared of sleeping alone now." He added, as if to hint why he had come in the first place. He didn't feel Francis interested in the topic, his _papa_ more focused on kissing around his neck until he got to his cheek. There, Matthew breathed shakily, not sure why - Maybe it was Francis' hand, tickling him? He didn't know. He just turned his hear to look at him, seeing as how he hadn't kissed him anymore.

He saw his lips.

The child smiled, giggling as if he was about to be given candy. He hadn't been able to spend time -much less kiss- with Francis since one time when, once he was leaving already, he had asked for a special goodbye kiss before his departure, when they were both in the kitchen and Francis was almost done baking them extra cookies as a gift. While connecting their lips, merely pressing as other times, Alfred had walked into the room and made a whining, disgusting noise as he interrupted them, to then comment about how they were 'icky' and run upstairs.

He hadn't seen Francis running that fast before.

The man snatched Alfred and brought him back to the kitchen, with trouble as the energetic kid squirmed, but managed to calm him down at the promise of letting him choose some cookies to sprinkle with anything he wanted.

The result was Alfred with a stomachache for a few days, but Francis didn't seem worried once Matthew told him on the phone. He had only wondered if the child had told Arthur, and the blonde only answered that his father had no idea about anything and instead blamed Alfred for eating more than twenty cookies in a single afternoon.

Since that small incident, Matthew noticed how the French refused to kiss him, barely hugging him at times, and kissing his cheek tenderly only once they knew they were alone. He wondered, why? Was there something wrong with it? Maybe Arthur didn't like him? Matthew had seen him and Francis share short, similar kisses to the ones they had - His father always ended up red like a tomato and embarrassed. …Maybe he was jealous? He didn't want Francis to love someone else?

Suddenly, he frowned, and a hand came up to grab at Francis' hair.

The man looked up at him, and his lips barely touched the boy's cheek. He understood the gesture, as always.

Matthew's lips suddenly met warmth, and he happily breathed through his nose, feeling giggles escaping his throat and sounding barely. Closing his eyes, he thanked that everyone else was sleeping - He missed his _papa_ and the love that he always brought. Blushing, he felt the hands moving to then grab him firmly by his sides, turning him around and sitting him again on Francis' lap, this time facing him.

"Hi." The boy cheered, gleefully, and was caught a bit off-guard by the second kiss. He closed his eyes, nonetheless, trying to move back a bit but found himself trapped by the man's hands. He let out a small noise, and Francis answered only rubbing his back with his warm hands, still kissing him, a bit sloppily. Matthew felt the other's lips actually _moving_, noticeably, this time. They caressed his own, and he felt the sudden urge to pull away. Yet, he didn't want to fail Francis. What would he think? That he didn't like him? He couldn't make that mistake…

"_Mon chérie…_" Francis said, once he pulled away, one hand brushing away the blonde locks from the child's face, and the other still caressing his back, until on a swift movement, the hand going up and down was going up and down against his _skin_, under his pajama's shirt. Matthew gasped, whining lightly at the feeling - The other wasn't warm, he was strangely _hot_. He didn't quite like the feeling of his soon sweaty hands, yet he did. He could only put it as 'weird' in his young mind.

He tensed, though, once _another_ kiss came. One that looked for his lips, and moved more - Upon not receiving any response, the boy petrified and not really knowing what to do, the lips traveled downward to his chin, his jaw, and his neck.

"_Papa…_" The child complained, suddenly worried at how the other showed no concern or reaction even to the sounds he made, which weren't his usual giggling. He did laugh though, a mix between a hiccup, a gasp and a giggle, when he felt something tickling at his neck, making him squirm. Why was Francis licking him? It tickled too much and he was soon trying not to laugh louder as he wiggled his legs and bounced lightly on the other's lap, trying to move away from his attacker. The other simply held him close, a bit tighter now, before pulling away, and looking up into his little lilac eyes.

Matthew was more than surprised. He was sure he hadn't seen Francis' eyes like that before.

"Want me to accompany you in bed, _petit_? …So the nightmares don't come back." The man suggested, each word accompanied by a caress on the boy's back, fingers tracing the arch of his back like if it were a sculpture he was molding.

"_O-Oui, papa."_ Matthew accepted, gleaming now, all fears forgotten as he was tucked into that embrace he loved and Francis stood up, not turning the TV off as he walked up the stairs, one hand holding the boy, and the other holding himself up with help of the railing.

Francis barely made it, letting out a few curses in French once his wobbly feet made it to the second floor, probably falling wasn't Matthew's door so close, doorknob ready for him to grab onto it. They entered the room less than gracefully, the boy clutching the other's shirt, and not exactly because of a hug - He didn't want to fall. He was thankful, though, once they reached the bed and finally settled down, moving quickly to one side so Francis could let himself fall on it.

"…Are you okay, _Papa_?" Matthew felt he needed to ask, for the man was lying face-down on the bed, apparently recovering from the difficult trip up the stairs. He saw him move, though, as Francis sat up and rubbed his forehead, looking around, to then lie his eyes on the boy.

"I would be better covered and cuddling, _chérie._"

Matthew didn't need to hear it twice. He pulled down the covers, opening them as Francis stood up and kicked off his shoes. He was already under the sheets when Francis sat again, getting into the bed with him and covering both up to their noses, staring at each other.

"You won't be scared, _mon petit_, right?" He asked, and the boy nodded, assuming his _papa_ was referring to his nightmares. And surely, he wouldn't be. Not with him by his side, not with the way the man brought him into his arms and caressed his back again, a soothing manner under the still clumsy touches.

He wanted to say something when he felt Francis pressing closer to him, maybe a comment about how warm he was and how warm everything felt, but he fought against it - It would break the moment. He couldn't mess this up, not with him. So he silently cuddled, enjoying nonetheless the closeness, even as he squirmed lightly when Francis yet again slid his hands under his pajama's shirt, caressing his back, skin to skin.

"You're such a good boy…" Francis whispered, and Matthew noticed his lips very close to his ear. It tickled him, especially with the way the other breathed against it, which was heavier than any normal breathing. "You're the best little boy…" The man insisted, along with a caress that went from his shoulder, and lower, and lower, ending on his thigh.

"M-Mh." Matthew moved, awkward, and as if to reassure him, Francis caressed him again, big hands molding against the smaller body, and ending behind his knee this time, pulling and encouraging the boy to surround him with his leg. "_Papa_…? What are you…?"

"It's only _amour_. Just _amour_, _mon fils_…"

He opened his eyes, lilac shining as he wondered what could that mean in French, knowing so little with Arthur being restrictive about him learning it. Francis didn't answer his questioning gaze, though, and only stared back, a smile forming on his lips as he moved forward, and Matthew nearly let the words escape his lips - _No, I did not mean that_.

But he restrained them, or more like Francis' lips did, for they moved more aggressively this time, nearly pushing him into responding, into moving too. The boy didn't know what to do, so he tried and moved his lips too, tried tilting his head to pull away or to give a hint that he wasn't really enjoying it like all other times, not with the other's heavy breathing, not with the bothering heat emanating from the other, and definitely not with the hands that now touched him almost desperately and moved each time lower and slower, until said hands gripped where he felt them worse - His butt.

"_Papa!_" Matthew couldn't help but complain, but he couldn't voice anything more for he had opened his mouth when saying this, and Francis had taken advantage and kissed him fully, sliding his tongue into the boy's mouth, making him squirm. "Mhh!" Matthew tried again, hands pushing at the man's chest, trying his hardest to pull him away. This was Francis, it was his _papa_, but it didn't feel right, at all. Between the smell, the heat, the _taste_ now… That was how his beloved wine tasted, it seemed.

"Shhh…" Finally, satisfied with the intrusion, Francis pulled away, opening his glazed eyes to look at the boy, only to frown at the scared, confused expression he found. "Ah, you said you wouldn't be scared. Did you lie, _Mathieu_?"

"N-No." Matthew barely breathed as an answer. "But I-I don't like…"

"Shhh." The man kept his stare hardened, having the boy's full attention. "I don't want to hear you… Unless it's French what you're speaking." He said, trying to sound serious even as he couldn't really pronounce the words. Matthew felt at loss - He barely remembered some words, and as he struggled to form any type of complaint on his mind, he saw Francis moving, shifting on the bed to lie on top of him, one hand at each side of the boy's head, who looked at them, as if trying to figure out what he was doing.

"_Papa_?" He asked, and deep blue eyes loomed over him, a drunken smirk under them. In a second, they moved down, and Matthew couldn't help but turn his head, evading the lips that wanted to claim his own again, instead feeling them on his cheek, near his ear. "P-Papa, don't…"

"Shush, I said."

"B-But _papa_…!"

The words ended in the form of a whine, as too many feelings returned at the same time - The kisses now at his neck, the heat of the other's body on top of him, and the _hands_. Those hands that moved too fast and too precisely and on places too private he was too shy to even mention. He only struggled weakly, still trying to reason with the man by tugging at his hair, by pushing his shoulders, or even kicking at his sides - It was all useless. It only made Francis move to grab at his hands, breath and tongue too busy glued to a collarbone he had manage to uncover, to then use his body to keep Matthew down - He pressed against him, moved against him, and the kicks at his sides wouldn't help it.

Even as the boy kept moving, and whining, Francis let go of one of his hands to pull up a shirt, peeling it off the other's body as Matthew couldn't stop him from doing it, only moving his arms later to free them from the piece of clothing, and continue the always weak tugs at the hair and pushes, turning a bit stronger, more _scared _as the tongue was now making trails on his skin and he was more than sure he didn't want this.

"_Matheiu_…" Francis looked up, his voice a slurred warning, and lips leaving the skin only to move further up and against the boy's, who turned everywhere to free from them - They weren't the loving, small kisses. They were hungry, wet, and demanding. His brain still couldn't understand what did this mean, why was Francis doing this, _why wouldn't he stop_.

"_Papa,_ stop…" He asked in a whisper, feeling the kisses in his ear, teeth daring to appear to nip at his earlobe, lightly. "S-Stop!" He tried again, but it was no use - The mouth was still happy enough with his ear, and the hands that had been touching and exploring were now _tugging_ at his pajama pants and pulling them down and he knew he didn't like this, he didn't need this, _he couldn't stop this_… "P-Please, don't!"

"Shush, _chérie_…"

He was naked. He was naked and helpless and his _papa_'s eyes were staring down at him in a way so unknown… But it was him. It was Francis, and Francis _loved_ him, loved him and treated him like no one else had, he paid special attention to him, he cared… and no matter how bad it felt, and how his body still squirmed under the touches, if this was what _his_ Francis wanted, maybe it wouldn't be that bad…? Just to keep their relationship, the one he knew no one else had, the one he could be proud of?

With these thoughts, it wasn't that strange for him that his legs had stopped kicking, and only a whimper left his lips - Because he was scared, he truly was, and the man was too absent to even notice it as his attention was fully focused on just touching and kissing and licking and sweating and apparently his clothes were too much for the heat because a shirt was being undone…

And Matthew covered his eyes.

His mind told him, at first, that it was because he knew he wasn't supposed to see anyone naked. Yet again, his brain started racing as maybe, maybe he knew what would happen and maybe some part of him had heard the footsteps on the hallway.

"What the bloody hell do you think you're DOING! YOU DISGUSTING FREAK!"

Francis was, before his surprised eyes, _yanked_ away from him and sent stumbling to the floor, where a bare foot still managed to hurt him as it went against his ribcage, in a kick with so much anger Matthew thought that if he had been scared of his father before, oh, _he hadn't known._

Arthur didn't let the other rest, not even breathe as he pulled him up by his shirt and pushed him to the hallway, against the wall and nearly down the stairs. Francis wheezed out of reflection as he tried to focus, tried to _understand_ what was going on and who was grabbing him by the collar of his shirt and shaking him, smashing him against the wall each time.

"Disgusting! You piece of NOTHING! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU! I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU DID!"

At the loud groan that could be hearable over Arthur's screaming, Matthew jumped from his bed, still carrying the bedsheets as he clung to them with shaking hands - He pleaded for them to stop when he saw Francis on the floor, nose bleeding and what he knew was the same blood being wiped on his father's shirt. No one listened to him though, Arthur merely eyed him before he made the blonde man stand up again, and he dragged him down the stairs, a hand on his arm and the other on his hair.

"GET AWAY FROM MY HOUSE!"

Matthew yelled a faint 'no' from his spot on the door, watching what he could of what was happening down the stairs.

"DON'T YOU DARE COME BACK, YOU HEARD ME, YOU GIT? DON'T YOU DARE!"

He heard the door opening, and he was about to run downstairs to do something -anything, he didn't know- but he stopped when Alfred came from his room, rubbing one eye, sleepy yet notoriously disturbed.

"What's going on…?" He asked, drowsiness beating curiosity, for he didn't feel like watching whatever his brother was seeing down the stairs, especially after the screaming ceased and a door slamming was heard.

"The… T-The repulsive monster… Can't believe he…"

Matthew turned away - It wasn't like the front door was in sight, and if Arthur was coming up the stairs, he didn't want to see him, not when he knew how broken he sounded and how dangerously close to sobs those sounded. He watched his brother, instead, who was staring at him intently.

"Why are you naked?" Alfred asked, then, and he could barely ask again when Matthew only ran back into his room and closed the door behind him, no answer other than a sudden, choked sob.

* * *

He was often called superstitious, but he always had his reasons.

He had tried to tone it down, not to panic every time he found a dead bird on the back yard, or when something in the kitchen fell when he wasn't even there. Thing was, he was being laughed at. Kiku had had enough of that, and at first had pointed and laughed, but now, older and sadly colder, stared and sometimes groaned, solving the older man's grieving with simply either throwing the bird to the trash, or fixing whatever was wrong at the kitchen.

Always accompanied by that hard, empty stare.

So he tried. He truly had tried, had tried being silent when the night came earlier when it wasn't supposed to, had tried pretending he was sleeping instead of trembling after finding a dead bird by his room's window.

For the fourth time that week.

He imagined Kiku's voice in his head, _maybe it's a disease on the birds, maybe they are feeding from somewhere toxic, maybe they're just sick, but don't worry; not a human disease. _But still, when reaching the part when he imagined the other petting his hair, the vision would turn back to cold reality for he didn't really know how Kiku's fingers would feel on his hair, and that would remind him that he didn't even know how Kiku's voice sounded like when soothing.

So he had tried, for a recognition that never came, so Kiku could notice, maybe someday, how hard he was trying for him.

Yao knew he had gone too far in this pretention, in this fakeness - There was only that much he could hide. As an example, he couldn't stop the color from leaving his face, or his shoulders slumping, or his eyes widening. It was what could've been a peaceful morning, until he left the dining room and watched his garden, where he found great part of the many flowers dead.

_Dead_.

Some were dry, other were ugly, others were beginning to look sad. He walked around them, followed the different paths between them, seeing which were still healthy as he struggled to remember if he had forgotten to maybe water some of them, or if he had done anything to them lately - He couldn't really understand the cause of it, until, of course, he reached a certain path, and saw the stunning, vibrant red color flashing and proudly standing, petals alive and never having looked better, green and red looking beautiful in contrast to all the sad, dark brown around them. Yao walked over to them, and saw that no bush, no flower, no rose and no lily in the area around these flowers had survived, only _them_, who even looked taller in their crimson glory.

The _higanbana._

He wanted to scream, a word stuck to his tongue that had been in his thoughts for far too long.

"Kiku." He said out loud, instead, trying to keep his voice tone moderate but loud enough so the other, who he knew was in the dining room, could hear him. After a while, he heard his footsteps on the soil, pausing lightly to then continue their march, until the young boy appeared in front of him.

Boy? Not anymore. A man, an adult, a grown-up? Not yet. Experiences were needed to grow.

"Yes?" The other asked, and Yao felt like slapping him on the head.

"The flowers. Aren't you seeing them? They're all dead." His composure broke easily as he took another look around while saying this. That, added to all the other things that had happened before, was just too much to be any coincidence.

"They're dry, yes." Kiku nodded, but still remained calm, as if nothing was really happening and Yao had, as always on his eyes, no valid reason to be nearly hysterical. "They dry when you don't water them enough."

"Look at them!" Yao snapped, this time, hands towards the _higanbana_. Kiku tilted his head, like he was acknowledging the flowers, and then turned towards the older nation again.

"I water those."

"I water them too!"

"They got more water than the others, then. Solved." The younger one turned around, looking back as he walked away and back to the house. "The weather is getting hotter, they need more water. That's it."

"You know very well that if the weather is changing in any way at all, it's because it's getting colder, Kiku."

Kiku was forced to stop on his tracks and turn around again, because of the other's tone of voice. _Again_ the other just couldn't let things be. He had to pick on everything and pay attention to everything but the important things. In his mind, he only had that permanent question.

_Why do you pay attention to everything but the one thing that really matters?_

"Why can't you leave it at that? It's clear. They need water, and that's all." He didn't really voice what he meant, but he was sure that Yao could read his intention on his eyes - Or his voice, or anything at all.

"I found four dead birds this week, and now I wake up to _this_. There's something wrong, Kiku!"

Not a surprise at all, Yao _couldn't_. Too focused on dead birds and stupid coincidences that scared him to realize how hard Kiku was fighting against punching him in the face, to maybe see if that made him open his eyes, or if it made anything at all. He didn't like to use violence, but he felt that trying it wouldn't hurt.

"And _what_ could be possibly wrong, Yao?"

Not Yao-_senpai _anymore.

The Chinese man shivered, as he hugged himself suddenly, his eyes turning to look at the ground. Kiku's words left him deep in thought, as he saw clearly the idea that had caught him yet he didn't want to face.

"I feel like I need to take care of myself. I can't understand why." He looked up to gaze at an unknown point, but Kiku knew better - The north. "It's a strong feeling in my gut and I just can't shake it off."

"You're being paranoid."

Yao looked at him, then, and then at the flowers. For a second, Kiku felt a shiver wanting to shake him off his calm stance. The older man looked at him again, and that sad smile of his curved his lips, as his shoulder went down again and his face relaxed.

"Perhaps I am." He admitted, glad enough he had finally put a finger on what was exactly the 'something' he felt. "But in any case… I think we need to be careful. And take care of each other."

Again, the sensation, the impulse. Just one quick punch, a fist, enough to send him flowing gracefully to the dry flowers. He would land comfortably, Kiku observed, but only a sigh came out of his lips as an answer.

"Let's go back, yes?" Yao walked past him, a hand grabbing his arm for a while, that had tried to guide him along but didn't work - Kiku was still and wouldn't move and Yao knew he was pushing his luck by even touching the boy. He let go, then, and the Japanese boy observed as the man left him between the dead flowers and the healthy ones, in the garden, the question still burning in his mind as he felt fire on his fingers.

He had truth, he had reality on himself, and Yao was a living fantasy.

The same question from before wanted to leave his mouth, this time clearer, more evident, yet all the same frustrating.

_Why do you care about everyone but the person who's really important?_

* * *

Time seemed to fly by.

They both refused to tell him what _exactly_ had happened _that_ night, now long ago; all he knew was that his little brother was especially sad during the days that followed it, that the bottles of that weird brown-ish liquid were all empty by now, and that he never saw Francis again, in the house.

Alfred pushed the incident to the side, and grew up fast. He was happy, strong, and everything about him seemed to grow in a positive way - His arguing with Arthur too, but they were necessary. Always after fighting, they made-up, they felt better, the relief of taking that weight, that frustration off them via discussions made it all worth it.

He believed it to be healthy, hence why he only wanted his brother to do so too.

But, instead, Matthew got every day more silent. He ate, he read, he spent all the afternoon outside, and then came back, ate, and went to sleep. And it wasn't because Alfred didn't want to spent time with him -though he surely didn't want to, he was so _boring_- but because the younger blonde simply wouldn't let him. He was happy enough with his world of books, of silence, and nature.

And, of course, Alfred wasn't jealous. Who needed such a buzzkill's attention?

He didn't.

_At all._

"We should climb a tree."

Matthew only gave him a look, between calling him 'stupid' and bluntly rejecting his _brilliant_ idea.

"C'mon. We'll see who climbs it faster."

"Poor tree. Putting all that weight on him."

Alfred narrowed his eyes, and instead of arguing and voicing how insulted he felt by that statement, he took what was left of Matthew's steak and put it in his plate, eating it with a smirk on his face.

"I don't care. It didn't even taste good anyway." His smirk was wiped off by that statement, but he continued eating, choosing to glare at his brother instead - Though, he found him fighting a stare battle with someone else, someone who had lowered his newspaper at the young man's words.

"You could try cooking it yourself next time." Arthur said, and went back to his reading, leaving Matthew with the same look on his face, blank and with the slightest hint of sadness.

"I will. I think I would make a great cook; it's in my genes."

Alfred only kept eating, happy enough knowing his brother would be cooking and mentally noting to remind him of making more food in terms of volume. He ignored, though, how their father gripped his newspaper and changed the page with more force than necessary, almost ripping it off, mumbling something under his breath as he did so.

* * *

He found the last warning almost as a sign of mockery. He wanted to pass it like one, like nature either laughing at him or working with its mysterious ways. After all, he didn't know _everything_, much less about those flowers he hadn't even planted, so it could be passed as a normal, everyday occurrence.

Point was, Kiku wasn't there anymore, and he had the right to suspect all he wanted.

The younger nation kept coming back, only that his visits were less frequent each time. He didn't mind, not right now at least, for he still had cried and nearly broken down a wall whenever he saw the old paintings hanging in his wall during the days that followed his departure. In any case, he wasn't upset at the moment, yet the sight had made him interrupt his cleaning routine of the main entrance to his house, to walk down the few steps and meet the soil, crouching by the green, leafy stem that looked bright new and young. It was still quite tall, in comparison to other newly-sprouted plants.

"I know who you are." Yao narrowed his eyes at the plant, and dared to touch a leaf. He looked around, and saw that at the other side of the path, more stems were growing. How had they made their way from his garden, to the entrance?

He sat on the ground, deep in thought, as he continued staring at the plant. He remember how Kiku, back then small and curious, went every afternoon to water the stems that grew up very fast, like him. He had observed the plant, too, and vaguely remembered Kiku talking about it when the first signs of the crimson blossoming appeared.

"_Before the flower blossoms, the leaves fall down. They never get to see each other."_

Yao had commented on how sad it was. Kiku only laughed -his laughter being only a sarcastic smile and a cold remark- at how his personification of the plant made him even get emotional about it. Because of it, the Chinese man refused to pay any more attention to the _Higanbana_, and developed a bit of hate towards it - Specially after the incident of his dried flowers.

And there they were, now at his entrance, at the very main door of his house.

Maybe they had come as a sign of a visit, from Kiku?

Sighing, he stood up, and faced the path that went up and down hills, getting lost in the distance. He had always liked to live far from the busy city, the noise, and the movement. It gave him a sense of peace, the opportunity to relax and give himself these moments of thinking that were so necessary in a world that moved each day faster. It gave him tranquility.

And loneliness.

Shaking his head, Yao turned again to watch the small, growing stem. They were, in the end, the only living memory Kiku had left here. No matter how strange they made him feel, no matter how many shivers went up and down his spine whenever he saw the red through the dining room's windows, he had to fight the awful twisting in his stomach and let the grow. There _wasn't_ a logical reason for them to be appearing on the front, and there wasn't a reason for them to feel just so _bad_ when around the flowers.

But still, there was a bigger reason, and that was Kiku.

And so, he fought hard against the impulse of taking each stem and ripping them off the ground one by one, instead, letting them spread freely around his house.

How bad could it be, after all? What damage could they do?

"It'll be fine." He whispered, and walked away from the plant, back to his chores and his routine.

Ignoring it all would be a hard task, indeed, but he felt like it would pay. He _knew_ it would bring a greater good, in fact, and he repeated that in his mind during the rest of the day, to force his suspicions and thoughts into something better. Into something Kiku would've wanted.

Because, in all honesty - The bad feeling the crimson flowers gave him never went away.

_-End of Chapter Two._


End file.
